


To Be Better

by fishfingersandjellybabies



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 16:19:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7691299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishfingersandjellybabies/pseuds/fishfingersandjellybabies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it hits them, how much they love their boy. And how much better they want for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be Better

**Author's Note:**

> This is fucking garbage.

He found him asleep on the sofa.

And that wasn’t weird  - Damian was a kid. A kid who worked way too damn hard. He deserved a nap on the sofa. He deserved a nap on a damn cloud.

But what made him pause, what made him freeze in his steps and practically gasp, was just how freaking _small_ Damian was. And he knew Damian was small. He was ten, after all; small was natural.

But it was moments like this, when the thought of what they did – what _Damian_ did – really hit home.

He was curled up on the sofa. No blanket, but curled up in a black hoody that was far too big for him. Bruce’s maybe, or Jason’s? It wasn’t one of his, though he knew Damian had a couple of his old ones. At the hem of the hoody, he could see a peek of red – his Robin tunic, no doubt. Obvious with the black leggings he was wearing as well.

Just a hero taking a snooze.

He barely took up one of the three cushions on the couch. Twisted into a ball like a kitten who was too cold. He wasn’t sitting right, though. His feet and butt were against the arm of the sofa, while his head was towards the middle.

He’d apparently been lying there a while. His cheeks were rosy, his hair was mused. Even his eyebrows seemed ruffled.

Dick couldn’t help but smile. His baby brother was so _precious_.

The smile involuntarily faded, though, as he walked forward. Carefully, he sat on the cushion next to Damian, and gently brushed his fingers through Damian’s hair.

Because he was a kid. He was just a _kid_. Just a _baby_ , practically, still.

And he was out there every night, fighting for his life, fighting for the lives of others. Beating up bad guys, for no other reason than just because he wanted to.

Dick sighed, continuing to stroke Damian’s hair. They should have stopped him. They should be _stopping_ him.

He should be at home, safe, _always_. Let him be smart, fine. Let him be a goddamn _genius_. Let him be Oracle’s partner, instead of Batman’s, or Nightwing’s. Let him be safe, at home, with no fear of being exposed, or shot at or _killed_. Behind a computer screen instead of behind a mask.

It wasn’t Bruce’s fault – but that didn’t stop Dick from being bitter sometimes. Bitter that Bruce didn’t know about Damian’s birth until ten years after the fact. Bitter that, because Bruce didn’t know, they couldn’t help Damian before he was indoctrinated by Talia. Before he was hurt and _rehurt_ and forced to put up those emotional walls that none of them could get through.

Damian’s bare toes suddenly curled, and Damian twisted tighter in on himself. Dick smiled, laughed only to himself, and continued to tangle his fingers in Damian’s hair.

“You’re alright, kid.” He whispered. “You know that?”

Damian, obviously, didn’t answer, and it was just as well.

Dick sat there a few more moments, listening to the mingling of Damian’s breathing and the clock above the mantle. He was debating if he should still go on his own patrol, if he should wake Damian for his, when he heard the shuffle of feet.

The sound was familiar, so he didn’t tense, or worry. Just slowly lifted his head.

Bruce stood in the room’s entryway, cowl, belt and boots gone. Barefoot and still with the basics of his uniform, just like his son. His face was filthy, with dirt, sweat and blood, and he looked tired.

“Rough night?” Dick asked quietly, and Bruce just shrugged. “You done?”

“I cut it short.” Bruce grumbled, keeping his eyes purposely away from Dick, and purposely on Damian. “Tim and the girls can handle it tonight.”

Dick smiled. “He’s still gonna know you went without him.”

“I…I know.” Bruce sighed. “I just…I wanted to come home early.”

“You’re a better dad than you let us give you credit for, you know?” Dick hummed, looking back down at Damian. His smile slipped again, though, and his own sigh sounded just as exhausted as Bruce’s. “…Does it ever bother you?”

“…What?”

“…How small he is.” Dick breathed. “I mean, Jesus. He barely comes up to my _hip_. He can’t see the top of the workbench in the cave without a stool, and we let him out there to face guns and swords and deadly poisons every day?”

“…I know.” Bruce returned, and he sounded near _wrecked_. “No one knows that more than me, Dick.”

And Dick believed that. For all Bruce’s flaws, Dick knew Bruce was aware of every single one of them, starting with allowing Damian – allowing _any_ of them – to fight at his side.

“…Fuck.” Dick exhaled, stilling his hand in Damian’s hair. “What are we doing, Bruce? What are we thinking?”

“This isn’t on you.” Bruce tried immediately.

“No, it is.” Dick snapped. “God…I _started_ it. When you were dead, I encouraged him into the role. Took it from Tim and practically _forced_ it on him. Maybe if I hadn’t, maybe if I gave him a _choice_ -”

“You were teaching based on your own examples.” Bruce cut off. “The example _I_ gave you.”

“…Maybe if I hadn’t, he wouldn’t have wanted to work with you so badly.” Dick whispered. “Maybe then. If I’d gotten him off this path the way I never could Jason or Tim. Maybe then he never would’ve…”

And even now, over a year later, with everything fixed and righted once more, he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t verbally say what happened to his littlest brother.

_Maybe then he never would’ve died._

“He should be in school. Making friends, not testing blood samples to find murderers.” Dick continued. “Ten, that would make him – what? Fourth grade?”

“Fifth, most likely.” Bruce concurred, and Dick almost laughed – of course Bruce had already measured it out. “He’d most likely have Mr. Duncan, at Gotham Academy. He teaches the advanced placement courses.”

Dick snorted, but kept his frown. Gently released Damian’s hair to brush his thumb along Damian’s cheek. There was a scar there. Light, no one else would notice it. Even now, Bruce probably didn’t. Dick only did because he was there when it happened.

“We’re supposed to be heroes, Bruce.” Dick breathed. “We’re supposed to _save_ kids like him.”

“And I still firmly believe that you did.” Bruce countered. “You _love_ him, and that’s more than a lot of people have done for him thus far. My…myself included. I’m sure if we asked him right now, he’d say the same – he’d say that was enough.”

“But it’s _not_.” Dick hissed. “Love doesn’t stop bullets. Love doesn’t clot blood.” Dick closed his eyes, and rested his fingertips on Damian’s throat. Counted the heartbeats. “Love is what got him _killed_ , Bruce.”

Bruce didn’t answer that, but Dick heard him finally come into the room, then. There was a second, then a sigh, and a hand on his shoulder. It sat there a moment, and Dick let it, before Bruce carefully hummed.

“Let’s go put him to bed.”

Dick nodded silently, swallowing the lump in his throat as he shifted up to his feet, leaned over, and slid his arms under Damian’s legs and neck. Damian inhaled sharply, but before he could move to stretch or roll away, Dick had him up in his arms. By the time Damian exhaled, he could only nuzzle against Dick’s neck.

Dick tried to smile, but his heart still hurt too much. The thoughts in his head were still too dark.

“He should have a bed time.” Dick whispered, as Bruce put a gentle hand between his shoulder blades, and guided him towards the room’s entrance. “Like, 9 o’clock. Dusk, maybe. Matching pajamas, brush his teeth, maybe a story time or one last cartoon on the sofa. Tucked in by his dad. One last kiss on the forehead goodnight.”

Bruce smiled at the thought, as he led Dick up the stairs.

“…He weighs _nothing_ , Bruce.” Dick near-sobbed. Suddenly he shifted, so Damian was cupped in the crook of one elbow, the now-free hand reaching up to hold his face. “God, B, look at him. I can hold him in _one arm_. He’s so _tiny_.”

“Dick.” Bruce said, sternly, but quietly, as they reached the upper landing. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

“Sorry.” Dick stumbled through, leaning his cheek against Damian’s forehead as they walked towards his room. “I’m sorry, Bruce. I just…I don’t know. Sometimes…after everything that’s happened, sometimes it just…”

“It’s okay. It happens to…well. _All_ of us.” Bruce smiled a little when Dick looked up at him in confusion. “You should see when Tim gets this way, too. If I didn’t see it with my own eyes, I’d never believe it.”

Dick tried to smile again, and it worked this time, a little better than the last, at the thought of Tim carrying Damian like this too, the thought of his baby brothers finally openly caring for each other.

It only took the figurative end of the world. It only took their youngest being forcibly ripped from them, and a whole lot of lies.

They’d reached Damian’s room now, and Bruce finally released Dick and moved forward, pulling the blankets down the bed. When he was finished, he looked up at Dick, but Dick stayed standing for a few seconds longer, swaying lightly.

“Why’d you leave him behind tonight?” Dick asked thoughtfully, shifting Damian back to lay between both his arms. “Really?”

“He hadn’t been feeling well all day. He kept telling me he was fine, but I could tell he wasn’t. He kept shivering, so I gave him the sweatshirt.” Bruce watched Dick stand there for a second more, before he stepped forward and carefully settled Damian down amongst his sheets. The cat – that neither of them saw until now – hopped up onto the bed and curled into Damian’s side, before Dick had even withdrawn his arms. “When it was time to go, I came looking for him, and found him asleep in the parlor. I…I thought about waking him, but. I don’t think he’s slept in a couple days. And his coughs…tonight’s plans were nothing to risk his life over.”

“Wasn’t it just a normal patrol?”

“More or less. A potential run-in with Scarecrow that never came to fruition, but.” Bruce practically snorted a laugh. “…I told you, Dick. You’re not the only one who gets like this.”

Dick smiled, comforted, truly, by how loved Damian was. Disappointed that Damian didn’t know, or at least didn’t _believe_ , it, but happy to know it existed. That he was only one of many.

Carefully, he pulled the blankets back up. Laughed when the cat rolled over, purred as the blanket covered both he and Damian, and sat on the edge of the mattress.

“We’re so lucky to have him, B.” Dick murmured. “Do you know that?”

“I think about how lucky I am to have all of you, every day.” Bruce returned. “But…yes. I do.”

Dick nodded slowly. “…We’ve gotta do better, B.”

“I know.”

“We’ve gotta protect him better.” Dick clarified. “ _Love_ him better.”

“We will.”

“Good.” Dick hummed, brushing Damian’s bangs back. “…Good.”

“…Dick?”

“What?”

“When was the last time you were home?” Bruce asked. “You’ve been travelling for a while, right?”

“Three months.” Dick smirked. “Nightwing’s been abroad for three months.”

“I think maybe Robin isn’t the only one who needs a break tonight, then.” Bruce suggested quietly. “Or a _nap_.”

“I will, I will.” Dick laughed, busying his hands by fixing Damian’s blankets again. Damian’s face scrunched, and he let out a quick snore. “Just. Give me a minute.”

“A _minute_ , eh?”

“I promise, Bruce, I won’t be long.” Dick swore.

“Mhm.” Bruce was suddenly moving back towards the door. “You move his easel, I’ll get us some blankets and pillows to put on the floor. Maybe brew some coffee, and grab the cough medicine for when his last dose inevitably wears off.”

Dick didn’t say anything, but he knew his eldest was looking at him in confusion once more.

“It isn’t just you who missed Damian, son.” Bruce called over his shoulder. “And you and I have three months to catch up on.”

Bruce was down the hall before Dick could say anything, but after a second, he huffed a laugh, leaned down and kissed Damian’s forehead, and dropped his hand onto Damian’s chest, needing to hear that steady heartbeat one more time.

“Whatever you say, Dad.”


End file.
